Chance Encounters
by Oishii
Summary: A series of FMA x Sandman crossovers. Stories of meetings that could have occurred.
1. Where Am I Going?

Disclaimer : All characters within belong to the creators of Fullmetal Alchemist and to Neil Gaiman.

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**Where Am I Going?**

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The interior of the factory greets her, dull and drab as it had been moments ago, as she opens her eyes. Lust pauses and looks around, feeling that there's something she's missing.

"You know, it's been a long time since I met someone who actually wanted to meet _me_," someone says from behind her. Lust whips around, startled. On top of a nearby production line, a young girl sits where there had been nobody before. "And when I say a long time, I mean a _long_ time."

She's beautiful; that's the first thing Lust notices. Incredibly pale, although not in an unhealthy way, and dressed entirely in black - a simple black vest with a shirt underneath, dark pants and a matching pair of black boots. The white of her skin and the black of her clothes contrast in a way that draws the eye instead of repelling it. A strange sort of cross, cast in silver, hangs from the chain around her neck.

When she is sure that Lust has seen her, the girl hops down and walks over to her. "Hello, Lust. Nice to meet you again," she says, smiling in a way that seems terribly familiar. Lust blinks, taken aback by the situation.

"Who are you?" she asks, slowly. "How do you know my name?"

"We've talked before. Way before," the girl explains, spreading her hands wide. "But you probably don't remember what I told you." She laughs and shakes her head. "Nobody does."

"Who are you?" Lust repeats. The girl dressed in black simply gazes at her sympathetically, saying nothing - and suddenly Lust knows exactly who she is. "So... this is death?" A nod. Lust looks down at the dark stain on the alchemic array carved into the ground, her expression unreadable.

At length, she says, "Strange."

The pale girl frowns quizzically, one eyebrow arching up. "Hmm?"

"I had expected death to be more..." Lust pauses, searching for the proper term. "Not here," she finishes awkwardly, gesturing around at the now deserted factory, which is a far cry from any afterworld she'd ever imagined.

"Well, it's _not_ here, actually," says the girl. "But this is where you died. I'm here to guide you to wherever you're headed."

A few minutes pass in silence, until the girl decides to break it. "You remind me a lot of a person I met a while ago," she says, fondly. "She was from Ishvar, and she was just as confused by death as you are."

Lust starts, looking up. "The real me?"

The girl shakes her head, a faint tone of reproach entering her tone. "Not the _real_ you. Nobody is the real you but _you_, if you know what I mean. She was a lot like you, sure, but different."

Lust smirks, although the upward curve of her lips has little to do with mirth. "Because I killed people without any trace of remorse or any other emotion? I was nothing more than a puppet moving according to the whims of my master-" She stops as the girl holds up a hand, cutting her off.

"I don't judge people, Lust. I've met lots of people who were better than you, sure. But I've _also_ met loads more who were miles nastier than you can imagine," the girl says, leaning back against a wall. She looks up at the ceiling, her eyes following the spiderweb pattern of cracks in the cement. "I try to be neutral when I'm on the job. All I meant is that you are different. No more and no less."

Lust pauses, trying to decide what to say.

"Where are you taking me?"

The girl in black shrugs. "That's for you to decide. You know where you want to go."

Lust is surprised to find out that she _does_ know exactly where she wants to go.

The girl pulls a small, silver pocketwatch from her pocket and examines it. "It's time we get going. Edward and his teacher will be here soon, and it wouldn't do to eavesdrop on them, would it?"

"Will I be able to meet her?" Lust blurts suddenly, uncertainty tingeing her voice. The girl in black only smiles and steps forward, towards Lust.

"Only one way to find out," she says wryly, holding her hand out, palm facing upwards. Lust is struck again by her eyes, which somehow manage to be clear and serene despite the countless number of deaths they must have seen.

"Take my hand."

After hesitating, for an eternity, Lust does so.

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**Author's Notes:**

Because Lust is emo, and she needed someone to listen to her. Writer's block just rammed me and squashed me flat... hopefully I can recover now.

Next is Wrath and a certain nightmare. Wrath has such pretty eyes.


	2. See No Evil

Disclaimer : All characters within belong to the creators of Fullmetal Alchemist and to Neil Gaiman.

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**See No Evil**

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Far beneath Central, on a cot that has seen cleaner days, Wrath sleeps. He is still young, and unlike some of his older siblings - Gluttony has no need for anything that doesn't fit in his mouth, and Envy scoffs that it's a useless waste of time - he still needs to sleep as humans do.

Wrath dreams, but judging from the look on his face, the dreams are anything but sweet. His eyes move restlessly back and forth beneath his eyelids, and his lips are drawn back in a feral snarl.

He's back on a night from weeks ago, before he took the name of Wrath. He's fused to the bed again, except this time, the blankets wrap around his arms and legs, digging painfully into his limbs and binding him fast to the mattress. Moonlight spills in from the single window, illuminating the room in stark tones of black and white. Suddenly the sensation is new and unexpected and terrifying again as it was the first time. He cries out, a frightened shout that echoes and reverberates in the dark.

Something hears.

A black shadow covers the moon, staining the room darkly. What jaundiced, sickly light that does filter in casts strange shadows on the walls that writhe like live things. The door creaks slowly open, seeming to Wrath like a mouth gaping wide to swallow him... or perhaps a gate to let someone - or some_thing_ - enter.

And through the doorway walks a man with a grin like a razor; sharp and cruel.

His clothes are the same startling shade of white as his hair, and a pair of black shades hide his eyes from view. He walks with the kind of careless grace that's normally associated with large beasts of prey. He turns to face Wrath, and a small part of him - the part that's still human - _knows_ what this man is. A low moan escapes from his throat.

The man in white looks Wrath up and down as other men would view a side of meat. "You have the most pretty eyes," he muses.

Wrath's bonds glow blue-white as he attempts to free himself, but the grinning man will have none of it. He simply cocks his head to one side, and the cords bite deeper. "Can't have you leaving before we get to know each other, kiddo." Wrath simply snarls in return. The man removes his dark shades, and the snarl dies in Wrath's throat as he stares, horrified, at the man's face.

A hunting knife with a wicked blade makes an appearance in the man's hand as if by magic. "Let's have a look at you," he says, and raises the knife. It approaches Wrath's left eye fast and sure. His slit pupils dilate as the blade fills his vision. It moves closer. There's a curious pricking sensation, then a horribly soft, wet sound as the blade slides in-

Wrath isn't sure just when he starts to scream, but his throat is raw and sore and he can do little more than twitch weakly by the time the man is finished.

The man dressed in white chews thoughtfully with two mouths and speaks in a casual, conversational tone with one. "You really are unique, you know. Exquisite texture. Innocence and corruption in equal measures-" He pauses, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips. "The sharp tinge of obsession, yes. And something else I can't quite place..." The man rubs his chin with one hand. "Tastes like _life_, almost."

He blinks, the teeth of his mouths clacking together as Wrath whimpers softly. "Well I'll be..." Wrath stares at the man through the blood covering his face, his newly-grown eyes glistening in the dim, yellow light. "You regenerate, do you? In that case..."

The hunting knife appears again in the man's hand as he walks forward, grinning. "Looks like we'll have plenty of chances to find out what that curious taste was, my friend." The blade advances, filling Wrath's vision again until it seems that it can't get any closer...

A scream, full of desperate terror and pain, pierces the night.

Sloth enters the room and find her 'son' crying, huddled on his bed like the frightened little boy he is. Sitting as his side, Sloth holds him and croons softly, stroking his sweat-matted hair like the dim memories in her head say she should. Absently she wonders why Wrath has covered his eyes with his hands, as if to protect them, pressing down hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Somewhere behind Wrath's eyelids, deep in his mind, a man with white hair and too many grins stands, and smiles, and beckons to him.

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**Author's Notes:**

Because Wrath is One Messed Up Kid, and I wanted to find out why.

Next - if there is a next - Kimbley meets a man who is singularly unsuccessful at creating anything, but has great talents in the other direction.


End file.
